Measure Of Madness
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: What exactly seperates us from 'them' anyways? Hm?


I don't know if I'd consider it a dark!fic but just in case, I thought I'd warn you of the shadows that seem creep along the edges...

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What _makes_ a madman?

Beyond the obvious; beyond the clear and already defined; beyond the biological and the scientific and the chemical imbalances; what makes a man _mad_?

At our very core, we are all alike; the same atoms, the same compounds, the same basic building blocks make up the same basic forms with the same basic functions...

The _same_ mushy pink tissue resides between our temples, beneath hair and flesh and bone.

And yet, that tissue above all others governs what we are. _Who_ we are...

And whether we are perceived as sane or _in_sane.

What is the measure of madness? I ask you truly, define the word; give it meaning, give it depth, make it more than just a hollow label plastered on those who are _different_. Give me a yardstick with which to mark it's progression and severity...

Furthermore, what is the point at which genius becomes that all important, reviled thing called 'madness'?

Plato. Socrates. Alexander the Great. I beg you, read their histories; read every dirty little detail and then tell me that they _too_ weren't 'mad'.

Say that an artist is insane and the history books will say he was 'a master'; say that a scientist is insane and the history books will say he was 'a misunderstood genius'; say that a man dressed as a flying rodent is insane and the history books will call him 'a hero'.

And what, pray, will those yet to be written tomes say of _me_, I wonder? How will _my_ part in history be portrayed?

Artist or sadist?

Murderer or monster?

Madman or _visionary_?

Such a _fine_ line between the terms when looked upon from a standpoint in the distant future, isn't it?

A hair's breadth between normal and abnormal...

Where _now_ it's all cut and dry and black and white; in the future, the gray areas will increase in size and blur the lines that separate the positive from the negative...

The lines between the sane and the insane are such fragile things. Mere spidery threads that can snap at any given time without warning...without provocation...

Without _reason_...

Letting one spill over into the other and contaminating it.

That's _why_ they lock us away, you know...that's _why_ they put us in padded cells and drug us until our thinking processes slow to the pace of a snail...

They see us as a virus. We're the contagion that threatens and looms and lurks within each of _them_ and they think if they can separate us; sever the ties between the two worlds of madness and sanity, that they will remain untainted.

And yet…

All of us are the same; inside and out.

And despite their efforts to the contrary, they will _never_ be able to weed out those that don't belong because we _all_ belong; because we are All. The. Same.

Irony is such a pretty word, don't you think?

I see the world through clearer eyes than they do…perceive things beyond their grasp…

And so they call me _mad_.

Am I unhinged? Perhaps. Perhaps I am so unhinged that the door itself has left it's frame completely, but does that make me _mad_?

Am I damaged? Most definitely, but I beg you, show me a man who _isn't_.

Am I perverse?

Demented?

Cruel?

Sadistic?

Yes. Yes. _Yes_. I no more deny these things than I deny my need to _breathe_.

I am all those things and _more_.

But aren't we _all_? Aren't we all governed by the same basic urges and passions and desperations, tempered only by the morals and propriety and conscience that society _thrusts_ upon us?

Our civility, _civility _--that thing that mankind lords over all other creatures that makes him superior-- it's nothing more than a trick; taught the way one would teach a dog to roll over.

Don't you _see_?

Animals. All of us. Trained like beasts in a circus.

A society of parlor trick performing _dogs_.

"This is right."

"That is wrong."

"This is good."

"That is bad."

"Sit."

"Stay."

"_Conform._"

And when one refuses to perform; when one _defies_ the ringmaster and denies the parlor tricks and training and routines that are deemed proper; when one embraces the baser nature at the center of us _all_: _that_ is when they call you _mad_.

When you embrace that thing that none of _them_ dares, when you give in to the violence and the chaos which makes up our most basic of character traits, _then_ they lock you away and say you're _mad._

But I ask you this:

I ask you, and answer honestly, lest you break another of society's rules and engage in the _sin_ of deception--

Beneath that mask of civility, beneath your morals and your codes of conduct and your _conscience_: are you any less _beast_ than I?

Are you?

No...you're _not_.

There you have it then, don't you?

_That_ is the beauty of madness...that is it's measure and it's method.

For you see, we are _all_ mad...

It's just to what _extent_ are you willing to acknowledge it.

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A/N: I'm _pretty_ sure this is from the Joker's point of view (I know what you're saying: 'You wrote it and you don't _know_?') but it _might_ be me channeling Joker channeling Poe (more than likely). I didn't set out to write anything remotely dark but...well. I disturb myself sometimes.

I take pride in the fact I sometimes disturb _you_ too (actually, it's not so much pride as sadistic glee, if we're being honest).

Right...now that I've got that out of my system, where was that fluffy Scarecrow fic I was working on? -wanders away-


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